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Posts Tagged ‘confession’

There, I said it

I’m going to put something out there this holiday season that may be a little controversial:

Despite the fact that I just like liking things, I can’t STAND the movie “A Christmas Story.”

I don’t like it. I won’t watch it. And I think it’s a shame that TBS wastes an all-day Christmas marathon on that movie when there are so many better ones out there.

And if I never hear, “you’ll shoot your eye out,” again, it’ll be too soon.

I don’t care that it’s supposedly a classic – it’s overrated.

Husband, of course, loves the movie and can’t understand why I would rather watch anything else. And I can’t really explain it. The closest I can come is to say it’s like nails on a chalkboard to me.

Maybe it’s the contrarian in me – I hate it because everyone else loves it.

Maybe I’m bitter that it gets so much air time when I’d much rather be watching “The Muppet Christmas Carol” or “Miracle on 34th Street” (the original, thank you very much) or “The Best Christmas Pageant Ever” (which I found out last year you can watch fully on YouTube).

miracle-on-34th-street-2

Maybe it’s really just not as good as everyone thinks it is.

Or maybe I’m just a grump who needs more from her Christmas movies than a BB gun and a pink bunny suit.

muppetchristmascarol

And I embrace that.

What’s your favorite Christmas or holiday movie?

No, “Die Hard” doesn’t count.

But I’d still rather watch that than “A Christmas Story.”

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To say that I struggle with my weight would be an understatement.

In addition to changing my diet and exercising, I have tried countless diet pills, juices, and fads over the years. In fact, the first time I lied about my age wasn’t to get into an R-rated movie, impress a boy, or buy cigarettes; it was to buy diet pills at GNC.

About six years ago I decided that the best way to diet was to simply count calories, eat healthy, and go to the gym every day. And it worked. In the course of a summer I lost about 15 pounds.

And I was living off roughly 1000 calories a day.

At the time, I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong. I was thrilled that the weight was coming off like that! And I reveled in the days that I made it all 24 hours on less than 1000 calories. It became a game.

A very dangerous game.

I should have known that it wasn’t sustainable. That summer I was living at home, not going out much (if at all), and working more than 40 hours a week.

I had no life, but by god I was skinny!

And then it all went to shit when I re-entered the real world by studying abroad and going back to college. The pounds came creeping back on and I became more and more frustrated, and more and more restrictive with my diet – an unfortunate method that has had lasting effects.

Not only had I severely slowed my metabolism, according to the nutritionist I was instructed to see, but my entire view of food was warped. I’d eat the occasional cheese fries (because my self-control was also shot), but I’d constantly be thinking about what I couldn’t have because of that indulgence. Or how many miles I’d have to do to balance it out. I thought of foods as expensive (lots of calories) and cheap (not so many), and it was exhausting.

I’ve been dieting for 6+ years without ever again seeing the number on the scale that I saw that first summer. And it made me feel like I was failing.

Until now.

Because now, at the risk of sounding like a commercial, I’m on Weight Watchers. BNF and I have been doing it for the past month (inspiration: less than five months ’til the wedding!) and we’re actually seeing noticeable results. The difference between these results, though, and the ones from six years ago is that I don’t feel like I’m punishing myself this time around.

I’m not so much restricting what I eat; I’m just making better choices. As a calorie-counter, I would have limited the fruit I ate during the day because it adds up. As a points-counter, I’ve been snacking on fruit and veggies so much that the amount we buy never makes it through the week. That’s a good problem to have.

I’m finally happy with this method, and I haven’t really been able to say that since I started my dieting career.

While part of that happiness is spurred by the number on the scale, I ultimately just feel better in my own skin.

And that never happened with the calorie-counting.

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As a Conflict Resolution student, and an International Affairs nerd in general, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about methods of reconciliation. And the constant trend is that there can be no reconciliation without an airing of truths.

Then I started about thinking about what truths of my own I would air, and remembered a couple years ago, when I did just that – and how freeing it was.

So why not give it another shot?

I know that we don’t speak anymore and, let’s be honest, we were never really friends, but I am truly sorry for what you’re going through. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

You’re not as important as you think you are, so please help out when we ask for it.

I understand your desire to want to practice French. I want to do that, too. But you sound pretentious when you do it right in the middle of an English conversation.

I am honestly impressed with your networking skills. But I still won’t ask your advice because I don’t trust you.

I didn’t tell you I’d be in Chicago because you had already let several emails go unanswered. And that’s okay. I hope you and J are doing well.

I really wish you hadn’t moved.

It drives me crazy how we always seem to work according to your timetable. You talk about friendship like it’s an unbreakable bond, but you’d never know it the way you cancel every plan we’ve ever had.

I’m so excited for the both of you! And I can’t wait until May!

Please stop using Facebook as a weapon. You are far too old for that shit.

There may not be any reconciliation to these truths – whether because it’s not needed or will just never happen – but the truth-telling on its own can work wonders.

Maybe I should try this on a regular basis.

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Guys, I have a confession.

I’m not so good with the classics.

Movies, that is. In fact, I probably should have added a list of must-sees to my 25 in 25 list, just so I’d be more likely to check them off.

For instance, it was only about a year ago that I saw The Godfather for the first time. And a couple months before that was my first Rocky viewing. (Yes, as a Philly girl, I’m ashamed it took me so long.) But that’s not even the worst of it.

Until two months ago, I was even an Indiana Jones virgin. (Still not the worst of it, by the way.)

Why? Who knows? Those movies have everything I love in a story – adventure, religion and culture, a little romance, travel, and a young Harrison Ford. There’s no logical reason why it should have taken me so long to see them.

And given those criteria, it would only make sense that I would love another trilogy, which I’ve yet to see.

You see where I’m going with this, right? I may or may not have seen the original three Star Wars.*

Except more “may not” than “may.”

*Note: I know I’ve seen the first one, at some point, maybe…I just don’t remember a lot. Kind of like this girl.

Okay, okay, I may not be able to see you, but I know what face you’re making. But it’s not like I don’t know anything about the movies. I know the characters; I know the spoilers; I know there’s a gold bikini. And I know that Darth Vader likes to frequent the Deathstar cafeteria.

Aren’t those the highlights?

No?

Well, the Netflix fairy is dropping it off today, so we’ll just see how accurate I am.

But I’m pretty sure I’m right about the cafeteria.

And, while I’m checking off classics, anything else you think is a must-see?

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Keeping with this running theme I’ve got going on right now, I thought I’d share a little story from a race that took place nearly a year ago. Last April I was running the GW Parkway 10-Miler on what turned out to be one of the first really warm days of the season. As in, the temperature reached about 80 degrees by 11:00am.

I’d eaten a CLIF bar before starting out, deviating from my normal routine, but I figured I could use the energy. Around mile 3 I remembered just why I don’t usually eat before a race.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever tried running while clenching, but it’s not fun. And it’s not easy. There weren’t very many bathrooms along the way (I remember only one, there may have been another) so, had I stopped, there still would have been a line of people to contend with. And seeing as I was still in my competitive “maybe I can beat my last 10 mile time” mode, I didn’t want to stop.

But, good lord, 7 miles feels like forever when nature’s calling.

Can you tell? I'm concentrating so hard on just making it to the end.

Now, take into account that I was getting dehydrated and the heat was making me loopy, and you’ll understand why I was a mess when I finally crossed the finish line. I was standing in front of the porta-potties, just staring at them, white as a sheet, when one of the friends I’d run with (the now-boyfriend) found me and asked what I was doing.

I whispered, “I have to poop. I’ve had to poop since mile 3!” He looked at me like I was crazy (fair) and gestured to the mostly empty porta-potties, that I’d just been staring at, blankly. “So…go.”

Basically what I looked like when he found me...except I was even more out of it then.

Afterward, and after I restored my energy levels a bit, I admitted to him: “The whole time I was running I kept thinking, if I actually poop my pants, do I have the guts to blog about it?

Yeah. I don’t think so.

So here’s hoping that something similar doesn’t happen on Saturday (2 days!). Because mile 3 out of 26.2 is MUCH worse than 3 out of 10.

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This morning was rough. And not the usual I’m-so-tired, or oh-crap-I’m-late kind of rough. But the, well-that-was-almost-a-specatcle kind.

I nearly fainted on the bus on the way to work this morning.

There was overheating, nausea, dizziness and slightly blurred vision (who knew that the whole “swimming before your eyes” expression was actually spot on?). And before I could fall over (which I was trying to avoid mostly because I didn’t want my purse to spill out everywhere), I quickly asked the woman next to me if I could please sit down.

Actually, if I’m being honest, it was more like me panting, “I need to sit,” practically hunched over, and her probably being worried I’d vomit on her. But nevertheless, she ceded her seat to me.

And then, as I looked up to thank her, I realized she was pregnant. Yeah, I’m the jerk who made a pregnant lady give up her seat on the bus.

I feel like I’ve just hit a new low.

P.S. When I emailed my boyfriend the recap of the bus situation, after expressing appropriate concern and laughing at me a litle bit, of course, he sent this little gem:


If that’s not inspiring, I don’t know what is.

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I didn’t used to watch a lot of TV. That is, I didn’t have that many TV shows that I had to see each week. I had a kind of on-again, off-again relationship with Grey’s Anatomy, but it wasn’t serious.

And then came It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. And then The League. And Community. (What is it about Thursday nights?) But I was still okay. While those are all quality programs, they also don’t require a whole lot of concentration or outside contemplation.

Then, just the other week, I started watching 24. I’d seen a couple episodes before, but starting from the beginning of the season this time hooked me. And I was hooked in a sit-on-the-edge-of-my-seat, must-pay-attention-lest-I-miss-something sort of way. And I tried to catch up on past seasons by reading recaps on Wikipedia. Because I’m not that invested that I care if past surprises are spoiled. I know I won’t watch all the previous episodes, so why not just try to have a general understanding?

Enter Lost.

Now, I know that I’m way late to the game on this one. And I probably wouldn’t have gotten sucked in, except for one little thing: we caught a repeat of the season five finale the other night, complete with pop-up-video-esque explanatory subtitles. So it didn’t matter that I didn’t have all the background. It was like a crash course.

After it was over, I had to watch the pilot – just to see how it started. And really, that’s all it took.

I borrowed season one and ended up watching, oh, about six episodes last night. Six! I don’t actually have that kind of time!

Laundry needed to be folded; dishes needed to be washed; the apartment needed to be vacuumed…but Lost isn’t the kind of show I feel I can multi-task during. And that says a lot. (I consider myself an excellent multi-tasker.) I just really want to know how the story unfolds.

You’d think I’d do the same thing I did with 24. I’d go to Wiki, read some recaps, and be semi-adequately prepared for the season six premiere on Tuesday. But, somehow, I just can’t bring myself to do it. A recap wouldn’t do it justice.

Which means that I’ll be going through all 103 episodes (well, 95 left now), hour by hour, slowly but surely. Because that’s just the way it has to be done.

I estimate it’ll take about a month.

I’ll see you in March.

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